


there was a terrible crash

by watchfob



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Noir, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-27
Updated: 2012-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-22 14:37:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/610902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watchfob/pseuds/watchfob
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A priceless gem, stolen. It should be an easy case for Detective Pyrope. And in some respects, it is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	there was a terrible crash

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jailbird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jailbird/gifts).



> Hope you like it!

Vriska Serket is a drug.

After sweeps of trying to rid yourself of her, you're convinced of this fact. She crashes back into your life without warning, creating a whirlwind of destruction, leaving behind broken pieces and messy stains. But what do you do? You go back to it, time and time again. 

You take a drag on your cigarette. The smoke curls like a cat's tail, billowing toward the vent in the ceiling. You don't like cigarettes. They fuzz your tongue and dull your nose. They also taste disgusting.

You take another drag. 

The card on the desk in front of you is neat and manilla-flavored. The handwriting is formed of constrained loops, vertical jade curves that make each word seem tall and important. You've read it already. You don't like what it says. 

The clock on the wall ticks for a few more seconds before announcing the time. You should close up shop, now. Go home, maybe catch an early-morning flick. Something relaxing to switch off the mind. You do not want to think about the contents of the card on the desk in front of you. 

You sigh and pick it up, slipping it into your jacket pocket. You're going to regret taking this case. You're absolutely certain of it. 

Your name is Terezi Pyrope, and you are the best detective in town. Might as well get it over with quickly.

-

The coffee is watery and weak, and it slides down your throat uncomfortably, leaving behind what feels like a trail of lukewarm slime on the inside of your mouth. You grimace and put a hand to your watch. The ticks tell you it's about five minutes until you meet up with your client. If you'd known what a dump this place was, you'd have arrived exactly on time. 

Tinny music filters through the speaker system of the old bar and lounge. You absently hum along with the melody - the song is popular and invasive, and you're sure you'll be singing it in your head for the next several hours. 

Luckily, you don't have to wait very long. Your client slides into the seat beside you and orders a water. She doesn't drink it; a wise move, you think, judging by the strong metallic scent it gives off. You think you catch a faint whiff of lingering chemicals, too, and wonder why she even bothered.

"I've never actually been inside this establishment before," she says. Oh, you think. "I just left work; the theater is up the street, and since your office isn't too far away, I thought this would be a convenient spot to meet."

"It's convenient enough," you agree. "But I'd rather not stay here too long, if you know what I mean."

She has the grace to look slightly embarrassed. 

"Of course." She holds her hand out. "Kanaya Maryam, pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure is mine! You, of course, know who I am."

"Many people know who you are."

She examines her glass of water briefly before pushing it aside. 

"Well, I read your letter," you begin. You shift in your bar stool so you're facing her. 

"I assumed, since you're here. Can you help me?"

"Of course I can help you," you say, and regretfully take another sip of your coffee. "And I will, too, so there's no need to ask. But you know my services aren't cheap."

"I understand."

"I'm usually a last resort for people."

"Yes."

"Or a first resort, if you're rich enough." 

"I can pay."

"Alright." You want a cigarette. Maybe it'll get rid of the taste of the coffee you just had. You take the pack from your jacket pocket and offer her one. She declines politely.

"Your letter was a bit brief," you begin again after lighting up. "Could you tell me more about what's been stolen?"

\- 

Terezi Pyrope is a needle, all sharp angles and pinpoint precision. She is a heat-seeking missile in a tie. Before you’d even left the bar that first night, you could tell she had already started calculating and planning.

Your name is Kanaya Maryam and you have no doubts she will be able to locate your missing item. 

You receive a call in the middle of the evening.

"I haven't got the Matriorb," she says, "but I've got Vriska." 

Your insides twist. Having Vriska Serket is no guarantee of anything at all. You would know. You were too closely acquainted with her to believe otherwise.

You were chosen as caretaker of the priceless gem. For all you know, it's been traded a hundred times in the Spiderweb. For all you know, it might be off-planet by now. 

"Where are you?" you ask.

"Meet me at my office," she says. You grab your coat from its hanger and head out the door. 

-

You are not surprised when you arrive at Terezi's office and both she and Vriska are covered in blood. She grins toothily at you, and you notice a few holes in her smile. You wonder how long the struggle took, and if it was enjoyed at all by either party.

Vriska is handcuffed to the chair, looking surly. She does not soften when she sees you. 

"Hello," you say. 

"Maryam," she returns coolly.

"I believe you have something to hand over," you continue. There is a gulf between you that you do not wish to fill. Vriska Serket is a drug. She is toxic, and if you get too close, you will relapse. 

"I don't have anything of yours," she says. A grin forms on her lips. 

"Are you sure about that?" Terezi stands taller, seemingly threateningly. For a brief moment, you had forgotten she was there. 

Vriska's smile drops. 

"I've been tracking the trading patterns of your network," Terezi continues. "Something as gaudy and expensive as the Matriorb would set off all kinds of alarms. I didn't find anything."

Vriska snarls. 

"I don't think you understand what you're dealing with here." 

"No, I don't think you do." 

Terezi moves in close. Her bared teeth are inches away from Vriska's nose. 

“At the risk of creating a bigger mess than there already is,” you interrupt, “I think it would be in everyone’s best interests if we didn’t lose our heads, here.” You are unhappy saying it. The ease with which the words fall from your lips irritates you. It is natural.

You don’t want it to be. 

They look at you for a moment before Terezi steps back.

“You’re going to take us to it,” she declares. You frown. Vriska laughs. 

“Why don’t you _make_ me?”

You can hear the blue 8 in her voice. It’s been a while since you have. 

“You do realize you are at a disadvantage,” you say tiredly. “You are tied up and we have access to a phone. It would be relatively easy to call the police.”

“I’m sure they’d love to come pick you up,” Terezi adds. 

The three of you are in a car within five minutes. 

-

Your name is Terezi Pyrope and you should have known better.

The warehouse was empty when you got there. It was cold and damp and very large, and it should have set off alarms in your head, but you were too busy comparing it to the memories of Vriska’s childhood hive to realize it is probably not a place someone would keep a priceless ball of diamond.

Forgiveness be begged for equating where you thought the treasure would be to where you both stored your old FLARP outfits. But sentimentality has no place in an investigation. You know this.

You should have been more careful.

The warehouse was not empty.

You are now intimately acquainted with the concrete floor. It’s warmed by the pool of blood forming under your cheek, but if asked, you’d probably say you prefer cold and dry to warm and when when the agent of change is your own blood. 

You’re not sure when Kanaya fell, but you’re sure she is not very far. Left of you, judging by the sound. She tried to have your back. It’s impressive what a chainsaw in the hands of a skilled troll can do to a wall of crudely armed thugs. You still don’t know where it came from. You would ask, but both of you are, unfortunately, passing out.

“Sorry to disappoint you,” Vriska says. Your attention snaps back to reality and focuses on the sound of her voice. “But I’ve got to run. I got a web to weave and it ain’t gonna do it itself, you know?”

You would retaliate somehow, if you weren’t mostly broken.

“Too bad we couldn’t do some catching up! It was nice running into you guys again.”

Kanaya hisses.

“Well, sort of.”

Vriska’s lackeys start to shuffle away. One stops to kick at your legs before moving on.

“Who knows,” Vriska continues, “we may see each other again soon.”

The warehouse doors slam shut. The sound echoes, strident against your clots, and makes your pan vibrate. 

-

The card on the desk in front of you is neat and manilla-flavored. The text on it is typed in even blue, 8s intermittant, making the message last longer than you want it to. You’ve read it already. You don’t like what it says. 

Next to it sits a gaudy diamond sphere. Torn paper is littered around it. You do not usually open packages neatly.

You are very angry.

-

You deliver the Matriorb by hand. When Kanaya takes it, her thank you is subdued. She leaves you waiting on the front steps while she writes you a check.

You wind up not taking it. She closes the door and you sigh.

You reach for a cigarette.


End file.
